Dec 13, 2002
I am a member of a band. We performed tonight at a neat little bar called the Honey Bee Hive. The crowd liked us, and I received thumbs up on my ponytails and flash of bare midriff. I don't know if I have an actual "look," but I know I like it when I get encircled in a hug and a hand finds a bit of exposed hip and waist. That sort of innocent touch, unwittingly discovering how smooth I am, there's poetry there. If such things must be orchestrated by the proper choice of outfit, then so be it. Whatever look delivers me into a lovely sensation of warmth and kind acceptance, that's the look I want.
I stay up late enough these days that I would be well within my rights to turn into a slugabed. I wonder if I deserve commendation for not actually being one. Instead, I lunge at the day with alacrity and only lament it when I realize the toll it is taking on me. It's not sleep I need. It's rest. The two are not one.
I keep them all fooled, though. Voluble raconteuse. Cheerful bottoms-upper with the Boddington's on tap. Smiles a plenty. Proficience of posture. Attending to whatever exigencies might crop up with prying eyes and demanding, clutching fingers. Blistex isn't the only substance with emollient qualities.
I remember when all the summer ever meant to me was spelling bee.
posted by Mary Forrest at 1:36 AM | Back to Monoblog